


The Narrative of Remus John Lupin of Nantucket

by rhye



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-18
Updated: 2009-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-22 03:12:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhye/pseuds/rhye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus John Lupin was born on the island of Nantucket, famous for its whaling culture. His companion Sirius Black is the nephew of Captain Alphard Black, with whom the couple now lives. When the sea calls to Sirius and Remus after their graduation from Academy, they have to content themselves with smaller adventures until Captain Black announces that he is taking his ship, The Grampus, around South America. Sirius smuggles Remus on board, but their plans go awry when a foul mutiny overcomes the ship. Captain Black is lost forever, but his nephew and his nephew's stowaway lover team up with the mutineer Kingsley Shacklebolt to try and take the ship back. They will find that being in control of the ship does not give them control of the sea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crossover with the Edgar Allen Poe novel _The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket_. I read this book this summer and was quite shocked to find myself reading a Remus/Sirius novel. I ended this where the good half of the book ends, and emphasized or de-emphasized events that I felt were not properly emphasized in the book.

_**The Narrative of Remus John Lupin of Nantucket**_  
 **Title:** The Narrative of Remus John Lupin of Nantucket PART 1/2  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Warnings:** Minor and major character death, violence, thoughts of suicide, starvation, cannibalism, infidelity, major character illness, sharks, thirst, poisonous gases  
 **Genre(s):** Action, adventure, horror, period piece, crossover  
 **Word Count:** 16,496

 **Summary:** Remus John Lupin was born on the island of Nantucket, famous for its whaling culture. His companion Sirius Black is the nephew of Captain Alphard Black, with whom the couple now lives. When the sea calls to Sirius and Remus after their graduation from Academy, they have to content themselves with smaller adventures until Captain Black announces that he is taking his ship, The Grampus, around South America. Sirius smuggles Remus on board, but their plans go awry when a foul mutiny overcomes the ship. Captain Black is lost forever, but his nephew and his nephew's stowaway lover team up with the mutineer Kingsley Shacklebolt to try and take the ship back. They will find that being in control of the ship does not give them control of the sea.

 **Prompt:** For [](http://rs-games.livejournal.com/profile)[**rs_games**](http://rs-games.livejournal.com/) Team AU [red/poem](http://bit.ly/1d0ApR) and originally posted anonymously [here](http://bit.ly/3vXgX5) with comments [here](http://bit.ly/3QWM2L).

 **Thanks:** Thanks to my beta [](http://3whitewhores.livejournal.com/profile)[**3whitewhores**](http://3whitewhores.livejournal.com/)! I've edited this more since, so if you see any more errors, please point them out.

 **Author's Note:** This is a crossover with the Edgar Allen Poe novel _The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket_. I read this book this summer and was quite shocked to find myself reading a Remus/Sirius novel. I ended this where the good half of the book ends, and emphasized or de-emphasized events that I felt were not properly emphasized in the book.

  
  
The Narrative of Remus John Lupin of Nantucket PART 1

He could not imagine how it had come to this. Remus' hand shook as he clenched the straws: three long, one short. One short straw stood between himself and certain death. It was hard to think of Sirius' well-being, this once. Sirius, who had nodded when Pettigrew and Shacklebolt announced the idea. Remus would rather go hungry than eat any a man. Would he rather die? Was he prepared to serve _himself_ up?

All the questions brought him back to this reality, to here. Was there some way to keep this from happening? To prevent the drawing of straws?

"What's takin' you, Lupin?" It was Shacklebolt, his voice stern, though not angry. Remus imagined that Shacklebolt could read his thoughts, his hesitation.

Suddenly, Pettigrew and Shacklebolt were on either side of Remus and he found he had no choice but to agree with them regardless. His moment of delay was up. He could not suspend this doom any longer. He thought he might retch as a confident Shacklebolt drew out a straw.

Long. Shacklebolt drew a long straw. That made his own chances, and Sirius', only that much worse.

Sirius reached up a hand next, and Remus hesitated. He could not do this. Pettigrew shoved him in the back and he knew he had no choice, or else he _would_ be dinner.

Sirius did not look well. His eyes were glazed with fever, and Remus did not dare mention to Sirius the worsening condition of his arm. If they weren't rescued quickly-- Well, even if they were rescued now, there could be no doubt that Sirius would lose his arm. If they'd had the facility aboard the floating wreck, Remus might have done it himself. The rot didn't stink to Shacklebolt and Pettigrew yet, but neither were as attentive to the departed captain's nephew as was Remus. The thought of losing Sirius to hungry mutineers, to sharks, exposure, or gangrene-- any of it, made him feel ill. How he wished he could go back in time and undo this entire adventure. How foolish they had been. Captain Black had already suffered at the hands of his mutinous crew, and though _The Grampus_ could not sink due to a berth loaded with casks of oilcloth, it had had all of its sails destroyed in a storm, and the berth was now entirely full up with water. _The Grampus_ existed in a sort of living death. Looking into the feverish and dazed eyes of its gangrenous heir, Remus felt Sirius, too, was only an oil cask from death himself.

Sirius managed to lift himself up well enough to pluck a straw from Remus' hands. Remus shut his eyes tightly.

"Long," Shacklebolt said. "There ya go, Sirius. Long!"

Sirius laughed happily, and when Remus opened his eyes and looked again, he was alarmed by the lack of concern over his own fate in Sirius' glazed, jubilant expression. Maybe near-death did that to a man.

"You two next," Kingsley Shacklebolt reminded Remus, and Remus nodded, closed his eyes, and felt Pettigrew pull another straw from his hand. He could not bring himself to open his eyes this time. There was utter silence, no comments, no outcries. Sirius was not defending him or rejoicing in his fate. Remus felt his knees go weak.

This was how they were going to end. They were twenty now. They'd had a friendship since they were twelve, and it had only grown into something so much more, and this was where it would end. Sirius would smile, giddy for a meal and some liquid on his sun-parched throat, while Remus merely let himself be killed. No love, no friendship, no familial affection. Just murder and cannibalism. Remus shook so hard he fell to his knees.

"You can open your eyes, Lupin," Kingsley said. "It's not you."

Remus, overflowing with relief, reached out to grasp-- grasped Sirius. Sirius' right arm. It was cold to the touch. Not cold like skin, but cold like death, and suddenly Remus knew he was yet to endure a fate worse than being eaten. He knew that Sirius had never been in any danger. Sirius could _not_ be eaten. Sirius was rotting from the inside out.

Remus's eyes reached up to meet Sirius' sky-gray, Sirius's eyes that had been filled with mania for days, and he saw there that, below the mania, Sirius already knew what was happening. Sirius was already prepared.

"No," Remus whispered.

Behind him, Pettigrew cried out and was silenced by a gurgle as Shacklebolt slit his throat.

~*~*~

 _Two years earlier._

Sirius lived with his uncle in a large gray-washed house right on Ash Street. From the window of Sirius' bedroom, Remus could easily see the wharves in Nantucket Harbor, Great Point Beach as a gloomy shadow on the dark northeastern horizon. He loved this bedroom, and spent as much time in it as he did his own. Remus came from a small house, his father a respectable trader in sea-stores on the island. His home was not far from here, but afforded no view of the wharves. Perhaps that had been why he'd had no qualms, no fears, no hesitation, with leaving Nantucket behind for schooling. He had felt he was leaving a place boxed in by weather-washed walls, and not the sea-stung island of dreams he now knew it to be.

At the age of six, Remus' maternal grandfather, an attorney in a good practice, had amassed enough money to send his only grandchild off to school. At eleven, Remus's good grades recommended him to a fine academy. It was there that he had become intimate with the energetic nephew of a certain Captain Alphard Black of Nantucket.

Sirius Black had been his schoolmate at academy, from the age of eleven onwards, but other than sharing birth year and, eventually, bed, he and Remus had very little in common. Sirius had been raised by egalitarian parents in New Haven, Connecticut, whom he despised. From what Remus could understand, the enmity between Sirius and his parents came chiefly from Captain Black's line of work-- whaling. Captain Black had once taken his favorite nephew (though not only-- Sirius had a younger brother) on a voyage to the South Pacific, and Sirius had come back telling such stories as could not even be believed when heard. Sirius took to the seas as a bird takes to sky. He often spoke of taking Remus with him; in intimate moments, he would move his hands on Remus' skin and whisper thrilling promises filled with warm sand and clear water.

When Sirius had refused to give up his dreams of the sea, he had been disowned by his parents. Luckily, his uncle had already expected this eventuality and Sirius was effortlessly relocated from New Haven to Nantucket; Remus could confess he felt himself especially well-fated to already hail from this locale. He could not think of his island of birth by its rotten fish smell and worn houses any longer. Now, when he thought of home, he thought, _siriussiriussirius_. When they returned on school vacations to the island-- the island of Sirius' emancipation-- Remus remained inseparable from his best friend. He took up residence at Captain Black's, his parents not bothering to disapprove. Captain Black himself was of the same inclination as his nephew, though he had never had an intimate friend such as Remus. He more than approved; he reveled in his nephew's joy of good partnership.

And thus Remus and Sirius lived summers and Christmas vacations in the gray-wash on quiet Ash Street, within spitting distance of the wharves and sea. Their room was on the top-most floor, north-east facing. The two young men occupied the same bed, and Sirius was often sure to keep Remus awake to first light-- bright through their window-- telling Remus stories, among other things. Sirius told of the natives of the islands of the South Pacific, and of the places he had visited in his travels. Remus initially resisted Sirius' siren songs, the Black sea-pull, but he could not help but be interested in that smooth voice and its glowing stories. By small measures, Remus felt a certain desire to go to sea himself. These small measures grew to greater ones as school graduation loomed with no immediate sense of occupation for either Sirius or Remus.

It was at that point that Remus purchased a small sailboat, only seventy-five dollars, called the _Ariel_ , despite the fact that Remus had no idea how to sail. She was large enough to hold ten men without much crowding, and was rigged as was a sloop. As soon as he had purchased the boat, Sirius seemed to light afire with the news. The two spent the summer after graduation engaged in some of the maddest sea-borne debauchery one could conceive. Remus would often in the future wonder that he had survived that summer at all, but Sirius was a brilliant hand at sail and tiller, and knew the seas as he knew his lover. It was for this reason that Remus had not learned to sail in his short time at sea. If he had, then one incident in particular would perhaps not have been nearly as frightful.

Sirius, you see, was prone to throwing rather electric parties. Everyone in the town, and sometimes rather the entire island, would come out to these celebrations. Captain Black encouraged them with a grunt of, "You are only young once," and procured many of the staples for the party himself. Remus, not much of one for parties, often took to the background on these occasions. Sirius was a merciless flirt, especially with the young ladies of the island, but Remus could not even pretend to be jealous. On this tiny sand-scaped sea-dune, rumor and news were the currency in highest trade, and there could be no soul that did not know the nature of his relationship with Sirius. They were god-fearing people, seamen, but practical ones as well. Flirtations in the parlor traded for absences from church with alarming ease, and served to keep the general peace.

It was after one such party, held in the heat of summer, that this frightening incident occurred. Remus and Sirius were in bed, blankets strewn onto the floor, space between their bodies to ward off the summer sweat. Remus was sure that Sirius had drank a good deal during the evening, but quite suddenly, Sirius bolted upright with the air of a sober man.

"I can't stay inside like a bitch in heat for all the Remus Lupins in Christendom," Sirius exclaimed into the dark room. Remus sat up, hesitant, as Sirius stood on steady legs and threw back the curtains.

"Outside," Sirius growled. "I'm going sailing. You can stay here, but I'm going sailing." His voice was not kind.

Remus had misgivings; Sirius had seemed drunk earlier, even if he appeared sober now. Still, Sirius was half out of the open window by this time, sliding down a parapet to the bushes below, and Remus had a sense above all of not wanting to be left behind. He followed quickly after.

The walk to the dock was short, and Sirius' clarity of mind as he made sail on the _Ariel_ did much to ease Remus' fears of Sirius's possibly compromised nature. However, those young persons who have engaged in some excess may be aware that, oftentimes in one who is exceedingly drunk, there pass moments, sometimes even hours, of frightful lucidity. It was in one of these lucid spells that Sirius accomplished all of this, setting sail into the open ocean, his head up into the breeze as a dog's, black hair flapping in the night wind.

Remus was enjoying the trip and the relief it brought to the stifling summer heat as much as was Sirius when he noticed that Sirius' hands were shaking. Sirius' expression was grave, his eyes clouded. Their meaningless chatter continued as usual, but Sirius would occasionally hesitate and wipe his brow. The tremor in his hands picked up speed and urgency, and as Sirius tried to hide the shaking, Remus felt no need to remark upon it. Then Sirius' expression went ashen as the wind blew hard from the east, rolls of thunder resounding off the waves. Remus could not miss the speed with which Sirius brought the _Ariel_ to bear on the coast-- for he almost lost the wind in the sails-- but neither said anything of the approaching storm. Remus was not worried as long as Sirius was not worried since Sirius was by far the more sea-wise.

The waves picked up as the wind did, buffeting the little sloop and tossing chilled seawater over the bow. Remus clasped a stanchion and carefully made no mention of the fact that the violent tremors which had begun in Sirius's hands had traveled to his knees. Sirius' hand was white-knuckled on the _Ariel_ 's tiller as the swells pushed and pulled. He was ghostly pale and their conversation ceased, as it could no longer be heard over the wind.

Before long, the tremors had worked their way to Sirius's feet. The dark-haired man tried to stand, then sat again, seeming excessively troubled as his whole body trembled nearly in time with the squalling wind. At that point, Remus began to suspect the truth of the matter: that they had embarked in the _Ariel_ while Sirius was still feeling the more invigorating effects of his evening's intoxication. The trembling now overtaking him was none other than those rigors which overtake the debauched once their vigor and vim wear off. One glance was all that was needed to see that Sirius was fighting the oncoming tide of unconsciousness with every muscle in his body, nearly literally so. His face was blanched as white as the sea-foam now, and thus Remus was not surprised when a moment later Sirius tried to stand again but instead fell to the deck, unconscious.

Just as Remus saw Sirius's form crumple, a large wave hammered the side of the little sloop, threatening to capsize her. She held, but a tremor of fear ran through Remus. He was hardly capable of sailing in fair weather, and piloting in a storm of this magnitude was entirely beyond his skill. He had seen it in the last grim-gray glance of Sirius': they were doomed. The head sail was already losing wind as the tiller went unmanned. Remus might have pretended to steer towards shore, but he had no idea how to tack in high winds, how to cut across these growing waves.

And so, as the next wave threatened once more to capsize the small vessel, Remus did the first thing that came to mind. On the deck, he found rope with which to fasten lashings. He worked fast knots around Sirius's hands and waist, affixing the man to the deck at its highest point. Too easily, Remus could imagine the boat turning over and Sirius sinking to the bottom of the ocean, unconscious and unable to help himself. Then, for good measure, Remus lashed himself beside Sirius' unconscious form. He had to struggle, as they were awash with water, to keep his head above it, and so he put his body underneath Sirius's to make sure that Sirius had the better opportunity for air. The minutes passed on, seeming hours, and dawn felt eons away. Remus' position afforded him a waterlogged view of the wind sheering off the mast, and he recalled belatedly that it was to be stowed in a storm like this to prevent exactly that occurrence. The storm, however, eased with time, and so Remus had some hope that they could make it out of this alive. If they did not, though, he promised to himself that he would hang with Sirius to the very last. With that thought, he used his last strength and the last of the rope to lash himself to the vibrant man unconscious above him on the water-washed deck. And then, strength gone, air too preciously in demand and too short in supply, Remus lost consciousness.

When Remus awoke, he was first aware of the eyes staring into his own. He mistook the present scene for one out of his own bedroom only because they were Sirius's unmistakable eyes, though they were laced with worry, reddened by tears. The second sensation Remus became aware of was a warmth and chafing on his hand.

"Remus, Remus," Sirius' voice was urgent. "I was so afraid you wouldn't wake up. I was so afraid."

Remus sat up and took in his surroundings. He was in as small wooden room, and from the rolling motion he could easily guess that it was on a boat. The fact that ten or so rough sea-men were sitting about staring at him also added to the illusion of being at sea.

"Almos' didn' make it," a man with very few teeth said, and Remus came to realize that this was not his bedroom, nor an illusion of being at sea, but that he was actually in a boat at sea.

"What--" Remus started.

"Shhh, don't speak," Sirius whispered, and Remus looked down to where is own hand was clasped within Sirius's, Sirius rubbing frantically. Remus's fingers tingled as warmth flooded back to his extremities.

"What happened?" he asked, despite Sirius' admonition to stay quiet.

"We run ya down, 's what happened," a grizzled-looking man said from Remus's elbow. "We was coming 'cross the waves, cutting in towards 'Tucket ta get there after tha storm, and we sees yer lil boat. Too late to turn, anyhow. Smashed 'er right in two big bits--"

"Bunch a smaller bits," another man offered.

"That's right," the first man continued. "Lots a bits. Thought she was adrift an' we was gonna keep on goin', but we sees yer friend here, and 'e's hollerin' up a storm, cursin' us, so we pull ya up. You been in the water a long time, got the chill."

Remus turned again to meet Sirius' eyes, and saw the heavy tears there. "Didn't know if you'd wake up," the grizzled man continued, and Remus saw that exact fear echoed in Sirius' eyes.

"Well, I'm awake now," he answered, meekly.

"Cookie's gone ta fetch tea," the talkative man-- and Remus wondered if he was some kind of in charge-- spoke once more. "We'll be to port in an hour or so. That storm blew us all off a course, but now she's a fast breeze and we got good headwind."

Remus nodded, most of this lost on him. The men on the ship-- later he found out it bore the name _The Penguin_ and was returning from whaling-- brought Remus tea and hot soup and eventually left him alone in the small cabin with Sirius for their short journey back to Nantucket. Sirius, quiet, cradled Remus's still-chilled body against his own and tried to pretend that his sniffling was not tears, but the wet heat falling against Remus's ear or neck from time to time spoke differently. Both decided this was something their families were better off not knowing about.

"What if The Captain asks after the _Ariel_?" Remus asked.

"Tell him you've sold it."

"I've got no money to show--"

"He won't ask after money."

Remus knew it was the truth.

"I've never been more frightened in my life than when-- that is I-- I had a lot to drink last night, Remus," Sirius finally admitted.

Remus turned so that he could smell Sirius, a smell of sea that always seemed to hang about him. Remus answered only, "I love you." They spoke no more of it.

That incident at sea, though it should have moderated Remus's desires towards the waves (he dared not believe it could moderate Sirius'-- in fact, Remus both knew and hoped that nothing moderated Sirius at all), did nothing but fuel those odd yearning fires. As a child, he'd been sickly and prone to indoor play. He had always been more likely to be found with a book than a ball. Sirius, who had been born to adventure, seemed so diametrically opposite of Remus Lupin. And yet, Remus was not entirely as he seemed.

He had dreamed of adventure. He had dreamed of the sea; growing up in Nantucket it was difficult not to do so. His family, though, had long held with the staunch belief that nothing good can come of a man who holds with the sea. His father and mother made their jobs on the land, as did their parents before them. His grandfather had often threatened him that if he should go to sea, his own inheritance would be cut off. Thus, Remus understood at least one aspect of Sirius' troubled life. Unlike Sirius' family, though, Remus doubted his own actually had the follow-through on these threats. With Remus, so often obedient to his parents, brandishing a threat was usually good enough.

It would not work this time. Remus had no sooner conveyed his hopes, his seaward dreams, to Sirius than Sirius had every intentions of fulfilling them. Months passed without opportunity; fall came, winter, then spring. Remus got a job for a grocer on the island, and Sirius was apprenticed to a shipbuilder. They spent increasing hours apart, and no time at all on the water with the _Ariel_ now so much wreckage, sprinkled amidst a centuries' worth of the same on the New England seabed.

Rumors began to float, talk that Remus and Sirius had had a falling out. Though Remus didn't know the reason for these rumors, he could tell by Sirius's hooded expression when confronted with the question that Sirius knew more than he was letting on. Still, Sirius smoothed the surface ripples, sailed them both through the rocky shoals, insisted that everything was perfect. Remus would have done better to remember Sirius' less-than-careful workmanship of a tiller while he was under the influence, but the young men had invested much in each other, and Remus had nowhere to go if he left the Captain's estate besides back to the home of his parents, now nearing the age of twenty.

And thus, when Captain Black announced his intentions to set sail aboard his whaler, _The Grampus_ , Sirius and Remus fell to an old school habit that they had missed, without realizing quite how much-- they plotted. Remus wanted to see the South Pacific, to sail the world. Sirius, of course, already had a standing invitation on _The Grampus_ , and he intended to use said invitation, but he did _not_ intend to use it alone. Asking permission was obviously out of the question, but Sirius came up with a plan he sold as "foolproof", "genius", "clever." His uncle, he claimed, packed a hold about as well as Remus sailed, no better and no worse. There would be space in the hold for Remus, if they planned ahead. They would pack a crate into the hold for him, with a clear aisle to Sirius' own private stateroom, which happened to contain a small hatch down into the hold. Sirius was personally involved in the loading of the hold (while not supervising, of course, because Sirius bragged that he could pack a hold more tightly than his uncle did with his hands tied behind his back and blindfolded), this ensuring he could make an aisle. Sirius insisted that they not reveal Remus's presence on the ship until they were far enough from Nantucket that turning back would not be an option.

Remus agreed to this plan. Mostly, because he had no other.

And so the young men waited for their opportunity. The crate that would house Remus for his voyage was stowed with all the rest, not with him in it, as he had no desire to be bumped around like so much cargo by a bunch of rough deck hands. Rather, the night before _The Grampus_ was set to sail, Sirius brought Remus an oilcloth slicker, shabby with wear, and an old hat that hung low over Remus' eyes. He slipped into them and made his way to the docks on his own.

Only once did their plan come very near to failure. How the old man had gotten wind of their plan, or perhaps it was only coincidence, Remus would never know, but as he turned the corner of one wharf, _The Grampus_ in plain sight, his very own maternal grandfather loomed before him in the path.

"Remus! What in hell are you doing dressed up in that shabby coat like a man headed to sea? I know you aren't headed out with Captain Black's ship," the old lawyer scoffed.

Remus folded himself down within his costume and glared at his grandfather. "Who ye be talkin' to, old man?"

"I know it's you, no use in pretending."

"Aye, I is me. But me name's not Remus. It's Argus. Now git out a me way."

His grandfather squinted at him. The night was dark, only a crescent moon hanging low over the sea to light the wharves, and his grandfather was getting on in years, didn't have the best of vision. Still, Remus doubted this would work. His heart was hammering in his chest loudly enough that the old man might be able to hear.

"Sorry about that," his grandfather suddenly said, stepping aside. "I thought you were my grandson."

"I ain't been nobody's grandson ere long years," Remus growled, and he was sure to limp heavily past his own grandfather and around the corner, not towards _The Grampus_ just yet-- in case.

But when he was sure his grandfather was gone, Remus bolted ship-ward. He found Sirius worrying the floorboards of his cramped little stateroom, a storeroom previously. Remus related his near-brush with failure, and both young men laughed, imagining his grandfather's reaction when it was realized that Remus had disappeared when Sirius and Captain Black had.

The two of them took advantage of their last night of true freedom, their last night of lack of subterfuge, by christening Sirius' storeroom-gone-stateroom before Sirius unhinged a bit of carpet in one corner just before dawn, revealing a skinny ladder. Sirius lead Remus along a string he had laid in the floor of the pitch-black hold. The string demarcated a narrow aisle through high barrels and crates of the oilcloth cargo the whaler was carrying. The ship's plan was to carry oilcloth to South America for trade, and there to seal, eventually following migrating whales up the Pacific coast of South America. The hold smelled vaguely of oil and something older, musty wood perhaps. Sirius showed Remus his crate, lined with blankets and containing a pillow plus all the necessities that Sirius had seen to provide him with for the journey. With a last kiss, Sirius disappeared up through the string-laid aisle, and Remus was alone in the tomb-like silence in the hold of the docked ship. They would be departing within the hour, Sirius had assured him, and as he had slept none all night, he climbed into the crate, which had been made plenty long enough for his lengthy stature, and decided to take a nap. It didn't solve the problem of a week in the hold, a week of boredom, but it served his immediate needs.

~*~*~

The first time Remus woke up in the hold of _The Grampus_ , he was aware of his dizziness and nausea the way someone might be aware of a low fever. He had heard in the past about the noxious fumes in the bottoms of boats, and _The Grampus_ , laden with oil cloth, might be even more prone to developing unhealthy air. Remus, in his young childhood and young adulthood on Nantucket, had never heard of someone dying in a ship's hold, but holds in general shouldn't be as open as this, certainly they ought not be open enough to allow passengers. _The Grampus_ ' hold was quite crowded, and Remus had difficulty getting anywhere but to the one hatch that Sirius had left into Sirius' private chamber, but at sea, the items in the hold of the ship could easily shift and roll. Ships grander than _The Grampus_ had capsized when their holds had come undone; the cargo, if permitted to roll, could ship the weight of the boat enough to roll her clear over. Luckily, the seas seemed calm.

Remus climbed to his feet and checked his stores: a bottle of sherry, a bottle of wine, another of water, bread, sausage, cheese, and the crate that he had been sleeping in, wrapped in a blanket. There was some phosphorus and a lantern to hold it, as well as a few books, but Remus decided not to waste resources with reading. He ate a meal and slipped back into an uneasy sleep.

When Remus awoke again, he felt distinctly more nauseous than the previous time. He had no clock nor calendar, no way of telling how much time had passed, but when he put the bread to his mouth, he was greeted by the telltale smell of mold. He pitched the bread into the dark recesses of the hold for the bilge rats (not that he had seen any, thankfully), and unwrapped the sausage. It was salty, and so Remus drank liberally of the water, finishing it, sure that the moldy bread indicated that Sirius would come and refresh his stores very soon.

Remus awoke a third time to find that he had not been wrong. There was a new jug of water, a leg of salted mutton, and a loaf of bread, all waiting outside of his hide-away crate. He was left to wonder why Sirius had come and gone without waking him. Despite his nausea and headache-- symptoms he had come to consider as a necessary part of his condition in this hold-- he was starving. He felt he hadn't eaten in days, so Remus voraciously attacked the bread and the mutton. He was sure to leave plenty of mutton for his future needs, as well. Assuaged by Sirius' timely delivery of water, Remus drank his fill. At length, he fell back to sleep.

The next time Remus awoke, he felt worse than he had yet on the journey. The entire hold seemed to him to smell of rot and death. He managed to stagger a few paltry steps from his crate before crashing into another, falling to the floor, and dry heaving onto the oily wood that had become his home. His headache was painful to the point of blinding, and in that moment, all Remus could think of was reaching some parching liquid. He finished the wine and turned to the water, gulping greedily. Only after he had settled for a bit did his stomach turn from nausea to a hesitant hunger. Remus found the bread first, but it was stale. Better stale than molded, he thought. He reached for the salted mutton and found slime hanging onto bone. At least now he was fairly certain he knew the source of the fetid smell he had been aware of; the meat was entirely rotted, and Remus could only guess that it would have had to take at least a week, perhaps more, for such well-salted meat to reach this state of decay.

Remus, sure now that he was being poisoned by the atmosphere in the hold, decided when he felt the rotted meat that he had had enough. He imaged the flesh hanging off of his own dead bones in much the same fashion, and mustered his strength to sit up and find the string that ran from his crate to the small hatch in the floor that led to Sirius's private cabin.

Finding the string in the dark was easy, but following it to the trap door was nigh impossible. Casks had shifted in transit, many of them blocking the makeshift aisle. Remus faced a long and arduous climb to the hatch, but he didn't see any other option, and so he began his careful trip.

In general, Remus was not overly hurt by Sirius' lack of appearance during the journey so far. He had come by once, clearly, to replenish Remus' food and drink. He had told Remus in advance that he didn't think he would be able to visit Remus often until they were at least far enough from Nantucket that the ship could not reasonably turn back. Captain Black would likely not be pleased about being tricked into betraying the trust of the Lupins, but he wouldn't turn back just to deliver them their prodigal son. Sirius was needed on deck quite often. Many of the crew members didn't like that the captain's nephew had been given his own quarters, and both Remus and Sirius had been concerned that Sirius would not be able to keep his quarters long, especially if he did not pull his weight. Perhaps he had been forced to give up his private chamber, and was having trouble getting back into the room? Perhaps he was needed on deck all of the time? Remus didn't know, but he fully intended to find out.

It seemed hours before he was done clamoring over, especially, one particularly large column of crates that had slid sideways into the aisle. He found he was not strong enough to push it, but he could just barely climb over. There wasn't much clearance between the top of the topmost crate and the top of the hold, but Remus made due and shimmied through, neglecting to be careful as he did so, such that he fell to the deck with a disgusting thump on the other side, falling ten or more feet. He thanked whatever gods there were in this godforsaken sea that he was still in one piece, and continued on his way.

Eventually, Remus did reach the hatch, but while they had covered it up with a bit of carpet when Remus had hid down here, now he could not move it at all, and, looking through the cracks, he could see something large and snake-like. He imagined an enormous coil of metal chain sitting on top, and wondered if someone was trying to starve him out of the hold. No, Sirius would never let it happen. Still, no matter how hard he tried, Remus could not make the hatch move even the tiniest bit. The only relief this journey had brought him was the less fetid air that came in the cracks from Sirius' bedchamber-- if Sirius' bedchamber it even remained.

He realized then that he had no choice but to make a noise, to be heard and hope that someone let him out, or else to die below decks like a rat. Remus pulled in a breath and braced his arms on the wooden beams, preparing to bellow, when he noticed that his hand had touched something... odd.

Focusing on the object under his palm, Remus shifted and moved towards it, discovering that it was a note hung on a nail. It had to be a note from Sirius! The swell of pure love and joy and relief that filled him in that moment was impossible to describe. He had begun to believe-- as hesitant as he was to actually give voice to the idea-- that Sirius had abandoned him on purpose, brought him out here hoping for his death. Remus felt he could cry with shame at the very thought. Had he forgotten the love he shared with Sirius?

Remus noticed then that tears were streaming down his face. He was shaking. He was torn between making a raucous noise now and being rescued, or climbing all the way back to his hideout to find his phosphorus in order to read the note. He was sorely tempted to give himself up while he was here, considering the horrible trek through a half-closed aisle, but Sirius had left the note here for a reason, and something in Remus' gut told him that Sirius would not have been absent so long unless something was going horribly wrong above deck. The note was, likely, meant to warn him. He cursed himself for not bringing his phosphorous on this journey, though he had no idea why he would have thought to do such a thing. Reluctantly, he turned to retrace his steps through the maze, back to his crate.

When he had finally returned, with only slightly less difficulty than he had encountered on his outward journey, Remus fished the phosphorous from the bottom of his crate and set the paper against the wooden floorboards. He smashed what was left of the white bar, using all that he had not used to read (he had used some for such a purpose, as going mad from boredom had, at some points, seemed a likely possibility). To his chagrin, he saw only blank, damp-looking paper. He stifled the urge to cry with grief and disappointment. He lay back in his crate as if it were a tomb, too exhausted to crawl back over the boxes, to fight his way back to a trap door he couldn't open and from which any soul was unlikely to hear him. Remus could see little hope now aside from death.

He was on the verge of unconsciousness when a horrifying idea struck him: he had only observed one side of the piece of paper! There was just as likely to be writing on the other side! Remus could hardly forgive his oversight and had to blame it on the foul air of the hold, which must have addled his brain. But he could see no remedy, for he had foolishly used the very last of his phosphorous. There had been very little and he'd needed it all in order to see the blank side anyway. He sat up to think. Perhaps, Remus considered, there were still a few pieces of unspent phosphorus... somewhere. He began to search, his deft and thin fingers, the fingers of a scholar and not a sailor (what had he been thinking?), working into the few cracks of the tight floorboards.

Remus had to search for quite a while before he touched anything promising, and it was in his own crate he found the tiny remaining chunk of phosphorous. He laid the paper out again, faced with another problem: how could he determine which side of the paper he had read before? What if he wasted this very last chance, just to see the blank side once more? Remus felt his heart hammer in his chest. He picked up the paper and held it very close to his face, trying to see a trace of residue, maybe even a little glow, but nothing showed. He hammered at the paper, and eventually one side gave the illusion of some light. He wasn't sure if he saw it there or if he was finally searching so ardently that he had imagined it. Either way, he could not believe that any better information would prevail itself. He took a deep breath, laid the paper on the less-illuminated side, and put the last piece of phosphorous on top of it. Then, he began to rub.

Remus didn't honestly get a long time to read the note out of the tiny bit of phosphorous left, but he noticed first the ink: red, unsteady. Blood. Then, the words: _Mutiny. Your life depends upon secrecy. I'll come soon._

Remus' heart thundered even harder. A mutiny? On board _The Grampus_? Was Captain Black safe? Was _Sirius_? Sirius, at least, was alive; he had sent a note. Remus didn't know if that same fact held true about the uncle he loved better than his own. At least this explained Sirius' absence. How long ago had this been written? Remus had no way of telling. He nudged his water jug; it was not as full as he would have liked. For food, he had at least stale bread, but that would only serve to make him thirstier. Still, he could see no choice but to sit there and wait. The atmosphere in the hold frightened him. He felt like he would be condemned, should he drift back to sleep. And so, Remus began what would become a long and painful vigil, unwilling to give in to sleep.

He had no idea how much time passed but Remus knew, as well as any person could know, how difficult it was to keep from falling asleep, even though his life depended upon it. At first he sat, thinking. Then, he paced. He paced until he realized how much more air he needed whole moving, how droopy his eyelids became as a result. He was thirsty but frightened of using his limited water supply. He wished he could read but there was no light. He sung softly to himself, for he knew all the songs of Nantucket, songs of sailors and widows, seamen from all over the world bringing their songs to the one little town. He tried to group them by theme as he sang them. Then his mouth became too dry and he had to sip from his tenuous supply of water. His tongue was moving slowly. His stomach growled and while he was pleased on the one hand, as the pain helped keep him awake, he was also displeased because he knew he could not eat his stale bread. It would excite his thirst, and he could not drink to his heart's content. He had already finished the wine and the sherry long ago. All he had now was a jug of water, one third full.

Finally, Remus began to realize he could not fight sleep. He felt himself trying to panic but he was too sleepy even for that. He knew now that the moment he closed his eyes, it would be the last he would see of this world. He didn't want the hold of the ship to be his last sight. He contemplated his options: could he call to the mutineers? Maybe they would show him mercy? There was little likelihood, but death by their hands seemed preferable--

Suddenly, a sound in the dark interrupted Remus's thoughts. He listened but heard nothing, so sunk back into his meditative haze of gloom. But then-- there it was again. Remus stood and peered in the direction from whence he had heard the sound. He'd heard it said that people had hallucinations when they don't sleep, and he was forced to wonder if that was what he was experiencing at the moment. He could almost imagine he saw a light cut through the dark of the hold. He also heard a noise, like a pumping or a hissing-- he couldn't quite tell. The glimmer and the sound were much too far away for him to make out clearly.

And then he heard something he could not mistake: "Remus?" The voice was feeble, uncertain, sounded almost as if it were speaking to itself, too distant, so distant-- And also, Remus was quite positive, the voice was Sirius's.

"Sirius?" he answered, wondering if maybe he had cracked entirely, lost his mind and was far around the twist by now.

In answer to Remus's call, there was a clatter and the distant point of light flashed, disappeared, and then came back even brighter. "Remus?" the voice hissed again.

"I'm here," Remus answered.

"Oh God, Oh God, I thought you-- Remus." Sirius sounded now as if he were trying to break all the barrels and crates that separated the two of them, break them and clatter right through them rather than climbing carefully around them, as would be necessary.

"I'll come towards you," Remus offered. "Hold up the light."

"Just wait there, I'm coming," Sirius answered.

Remus found himself sighing with affectionate exasperation, dreading what was sure to be a long and difficult climb over cargo to get to Sirius, but likewise he was giddy with the discovery of Sirius in the hold, with the prospects of getting out of here. He was no longer feeling the need to fall asleep immediately, but instead he felt he could swim all the way back to Nantucket. Surely, now that only a few crates separated him from fresh air, water, Sirius, freedom, he would make the climb.

Sirius did eventually stop trying to beat the cargo into submission and consented to climbing it. He carried the light with him, awkwardly, and Remus tracked Sirius, climbed always towards him by way of following the swinging lantern, the thick-throated curses of the man he loved.

The two met at last atop a particularly awkwardly-stowed crate, and for a moment they might have been anywhere, their hands searching and thirsty. They would have kissed if they could have managed it, but both were perched precariously, in danger of falling. Sirius indicated a direction, and both of them slid down off the crate that way, landing less than gracefully on the floor below.

"Remus, I thought you had died," Sirius said breathlessly almost as soon as they had landed. "I didn't think you'd have any water left, or very little. I tried to rouse you when I dropped off supplies. I thought you were asleep, and you never-- you didn't-- I thought you were asleep!" Sirius sounded frantic. "But just now I came down here and the air-- it's-- I," Sirius stopped speaking, screwed his mouth up, and then began to sob, big, hiccuping sobs that choked the air out of him and that made frighteningly loud sounds in the tight walls of barrels.

"Sirius," Remus hissed, "Stop! What about... The sound, can we--"

Sirius looked up and met Remus' eyes, and silenced himself, slowly drawing himself up in height. "Sorry," Sirius whispered, wiping his noise on his sleeve. All of this Remus took in by the light of Sirius' failing lantern. "Reckon we should get you fresh air."

"What about the mutiny?" Remus asked.

"I'm in a brig of sorts. Here, let me show you."

The journey back through the maze of cargo was not easy, not as simple as 'let me show you', but it would be necessary regardless, as it was taking Sirius and Remus to what would be their new home for at least the next little while. They finally did arrive, Sirius scaling a series of crates to reveal a bit of cloth covering a rough-hewn hole in the floor overhead. Sirius jabbed at the cloth experimentally and when nothing happened, he moved it aside brusquely and pulled himself up through the hole in the ceiling of the hold.

The air that met Remus' face through the opening was sweet and fresh, and he thought he had forgotten the scent of fresh air until now. He wanted to drink it in, to revel in it. Sirius' legs were kicking in the opening, and then he was through. His head popped back in to the hole. "All right? This is my cell. It's a tiny storeroom where they're keeping me, anyway. They don't come by often, twice a day to give me food, so I think you'd be safe in here most of the time. Come on up."

Remus didn't wait to be asked twice. He wiggled his way through the tiny opening, allowed all of Sirius' groping pulls, though they were less helpful than painful, pulling on him in odd places. The room _was_ small, as it only held one mattress, a pot to pee in, an overturned crate for a chair, and a locked door. There were no windows, and Remus reflected that the air in here was probably fairly stale, but by comparison to the hold...

The hole in the floor had been covered by a bit of balled-up bedclothes that Sirius had worked on top of it. Now, Sirius was explaining how Remus could hide in the hold for the twice-daily feedings, and how he could slide his mattress easily over the hole.

"How did you make it?" Remus asked.

Sirius pulled the broken end of a pan handle from underneath his mattress. "Chipped through."

Remus shuddered, not wanting to imagine Sirius' panic, locked in his cell, trying to figure out a way to Remus. Remus looked around again, then pointed to the lantern. "They let you keep this?"

"Shacklebolt brought it. Sit down, let me tell you the story."

Remus sat on the overturned crate and listened as Sirius told him of the mutiny.

Some members of the crew, it turned out, had some communication with a vessel leaving Barbados. The plan, for these crew members, had been to mutiny and run rum with the ship from Barbados, though other crew members thought it would be most effective to simply turn pirate and steal the money or cargo of the ship from Barbados and any other ships they ran across. Regardless, they'd taken the small compliment of the crew not in on this plan-- some five souls-- and tied them, Sirius among them. Their plan was to put the men in a skiff adrift in the Atlantic and let God save them if he might. One of the men put up a fight, had his throat slit right then, so none of the remaining were inclined to resist. The four were being set in a skiff when Kingsley Shacklebolt, a crewman since ever Sirius could remember, spoke up only for Sirius, bringing before the chief mutineer the fact that Sirius was only being loyal to blood, as a man ought, and hence he should not be punished with the rest of the men. The chief mutineer had reluctantly agreed and sentenced Sirius to this small room, appointing Shacklebolt as Sirius' caretaker.

Remus rubbed his hands together, watching Sirius drown in his own silence. "You know," Remus offered feebly, "If we're headed for Barbados, we may be in a major trade route. It's quite possible your uncle will be picked up by another ship."

"Yeah," Sirius answered, nodding, but Remus didn't believe it himself.

"Anyway," Sirius sighed, "Shacklebolt brings me food. I went to get you, or to get your-- to get you." Sirius nodded.

"Do you trust Shacklebolt?"

Sirius shook his head, but he answered, "He doesn't agree with the cook-- the chief mutineer, you see-- but he's not about to say so. He's been trying to win men to his side, but not with any luck. See," Sirius said, looking up to watch Remus, "Shacklebolt has a girl in the Pacific. Last time I came with my uncle, Christ I was only a lad, but Shacklebolt went to see his woman. I don't know," Sirius shook his head as if to clear it, "if she's his woman or just a woman. Maybe he simply favors the women there. The point is, if the men start running rum, Shacklebolt never gets to the Pacific. That's his motivation."

"Why did he side with the mutineers at all, in that case?" Remus asked.

"I suppose," Sirius waved at the wall to indicate the vastness of the blue sea beyond, "He wanted to live."

Remus nodded sagely. He wasn't sure he fully agreed with Shacklebolt's part in this mutiny, no matter the excuse, but Shacklebolt had saved Sirius' life, and for that he was forced to be grateful.

Sirius, though, rose, stretched, and pulled Remus from the mattress, wrapping him in warm arms, pungent with a familiar body odor. "We have to make a place for you to stay here."

Remus nodded and stepped to the side, watching as Sirius moved his mattress, making sure the hole could be covered and uncovered quickly. This would work, Sirius assured him. They would share food and water. Remus would hide for the two rather predictable visits per day that Shacklebolt paid Sirius, and the rest of the time, they could live in this room together. It even surpassed tolerable and at least they were able to spend this unpleasantness together.

And thus they proceeded, according to plan, without any hiccups. Shacklebolt came to deliver meals, once in the morning and once in the evening. In the evenings he would sometimes sit on the overturned crate, and Sirius would sit on the mattress (Remus listening from below-decks), and Shacklebolt would bring Sirius up-to-date with matters aboard-ship. Shacklebolt spoke of his attempts to build a counter-mutiny, the lack of success with which they were meeting, his own hopelessness. At great length and after much discussion between themselves, Sirius and Remus decided it would be safe to bring Shacklebolt into their secrets, that is, to tell him about Remus' presence aboard ship.

Sirius had no sooner broken the news, and Remus was still climbing out of the hole in the floor, than Shacklebolt whispered urgently, "This is perfect." His dark brown and leathery skin stretched into a wide smile. "I dared not fight if it was two against ten, but three is a different matter!"

Remus, for himself, did not see three as an altogether different matter from two, but Shacklebolt said he could recruit one more, which meant four versus nine, and that was, while not fair odds by a long shot, not outright suicide either.

"Besides," added Shacklebolt, "With Mr. Lupin here, we have the advantage of surprise. He's worth two men at least."

Remus grudgingly admitted that there was some truth to that and hoped he could fight as well as two men also, hoped they all could, or else it might as well be four against nine hundred.

Shacklebolt worked his magic over the next week or so on the one member of the mutineering crew that was not committed to the new captain's plan: a simple sailor by the name of Mundungus Fletcher. Fletcher and Shacklebolt were soon plotting, and while Sirius insisted diligently that Fletcher not know of Remus' existence, as Fletcher did not forecast an entirely trustworthy air, Fletcher, Sirius, and Shacklebolt would sometimes meet in the middle of the night (Remus listening from below-decks) to plan.

Until one day, Fletcher turned up dead. Poisoned. Remus agreed that the time to act was now. It could only be a matter of a day or two before he, Sirius, and Shacklebolt would all be cursed with the same fate. Someone was on to their scheming.

The very night following the morning of Fletcher's death, Shacklebolt came to them, frantic. The mutineer-captain and his motley 'crew' were, at this very moment, in conference in the captain's stateroom discussing how to dispatch himself and Sirius. At length, they decided that surprise was the very best tactic, and they had the added advantage of being able to use Fletcher's untimely demise. Shacklebolt came up the with the idea that, should Remus disguise himself as Fletcher, the sailors' natural inclination towards superstition and belief in the paranormal could be turned to benefit Shacklebolt's small gang. The idea was that, dresses as Fletcher, Remus could buy Sirius and Shacklebolt a moment to attack. He wasn't sure if he could _really_ do it, but it was the very best idea they had.

Fletcher, almost twelve hours dead, had not yet received his burial at sea. His body was wrapped in oilcloth and laid out on deck and Remus was forced to bludgeon the watchman in order to get to the body, the sounds of the assault hidden within a rising wind. Even to Remus's untrained senses the sea seemed angry. If he had been a man of superstition himself, he might have found links where there weren't any. As it was, he was chiefly worried about who would control the sails if a storm blew up. From Shacklebolt's description of the mutineers' council and the amount of alcohol involved, those men seemed too compromised to work a ship.

In their plan worked well, almost too well. Remus would later attribute the success of his disguise to the fact that, having been stuck in the dark for a month by now, he must have been the color of a corpse. He also later discovered that the poisoning in the air of the hold had left him with purplish circles about his eyes, giving him a rather deathly appearance. He smelled of the dead, of Fletcher's clothes that had been on Fletcher's body in the hot sun for a day. He probably would not have had the courage to charge into a room full of mutineers had he not heard them actually discussing the death of the dear Captain's nephew and how best to bring it about. Having just seen Fletcher lying in the sad, pirate's version of state, stinking of decay, his mind replaced the sallow face of poor Fletcher with Sirius' vivacious tan, paled to a ghastly color. He felt he would have done anything in that moment to prevent such an outcome, and so he burst through the unlocked door into Captain Black's stateroom, amidst the murderous mutineers.

The men all had weapons, but Remus' ghastly appearance, combined with their superstition and likely their unease with having Fletcher's body aboard, yielded every weapon impotent. No one moved. All started and groped for their chests, some calling out to God, others to their mothers, and two men actually _fainted_.

It gave Sirius and Shacklebolt the space of time they needed to enter the room and kick away revolvers and knives as best they could before the men began to recover, shouting, fighting back. But the mutineers had been drinking, and they were unsteady, slow to fight. Nevertheless, aside from the one man at watch on deck that he had taken out earlier, and the dead Fletcher, it was now three against eight and hardly a fair fight, especially as the eight had at least some weapons, and the three had only the weapons they could steal.

The three doomed souls aboard _The Grampus_ \-- Sirius, Remus, and Kingsley Shacklebolt-- fought nevertheless with one added benefit that their opponents did not have, and that is the sure knowledge that should they fail, there was no fate awaiting them other than death. Because of this, when the marauding captain lunged for his blade, Remus was there, stepping on the offending man's massive forearm, little good his small weight did in the matter. Another pirate threw himself at Remus from behind but Sirius threw an elbow into that man's gut, and he rolled the the floor. Sirius was quick to grab a nearby rum jug and pounded the man over the head. Remus's second assailant fell to the floor, unconscious. Kingsley had his hands full with another man. They slung epithets as quickly as they slung punches, but the epithets landed rather better, until the sober Shacklebolt finally delivered a resounding blow. Two other men had passed out during Remus' initial appearance, and one of these was recovering his wits, and was soon on Remus-- quite literally, as the man had climbed onto his back and was hanging there-- even while Remus was still trying his best to keep the pirate captain down. Remus turned to call for more help from Sirius, but saw that he had acquired a knife and was using it in a battle with another similarly-armed man. Kingsley had in his hand a rifle, most likely unloaded, and was using it to parry blows from an iron bar help by another pirate. The man on Remus' knew was, by now, choking him.

"Dammit," Remus croaked, and got off of the captain, who had by this time nearly reached his own knife lying on the floor. Remus could not reach the knife in time to counter the false captain, so he did what he thought of first, wanting to shake the choking menace, and spun quickly. He was not strong enough to stay on his feet under the spinning weight of the man on his back but as he fell, the man fell on top of him just in time for the captain to spring up and dash his blade right through the spot where he assumed Remus lay.

The captain, of course, pierced his own crewman instead. Remus was loathe to roll out from under even such as putrid shield but the captain would regain his focus in a second, no doubt. But, by that time, Shacklebolt seemed to have won his battle with at least one of his combatants, as Remus was spared having to worry about the pirate captain when the iron rod, swung by Shacklebolt as if it were a baseball bat, broke the poor cook's neck and sent him dead to the floor.

Remus scrambled out from under his dead man shield and gladly took the weapon being offered him by Shacklebolt: the unloaded rifle. On the floor, a half dozen men were unconscious and dying, and Sirius had killed two with a knife. Blood rain down his own right shoulder, but not so much blood, and he looked eager to take on either of the two remaining men.

One rushed at Remus himself, and he swung like a bat, taking Shacklebolt as his role model. The man fall directly to the floor.

Shacklebolt laughed. "I woulda' thought you would shoot him, Lupin."

"Is it loaded?" Remus was surprised.

"Don' know why anyone keep an unloaded gun around."

"The powder gets moist," Remus answered. "Or the flint. Even if it is loaded, it might not fire."

"Suit yerself. That seemed to work just fine. Who do you think this last one's going to run to?"

All three of them turned to the remaining conscious and alive mutineer in their midst. He seemed to shake where he stood and after a tense thirty seconds, he fell to his knees. "Surrender," he squeaked. "Surrender."

Remus, Sirius, and Shacklebolt nodded to each other and dragged the poor man towards the deck.

What they saw there made them all gape in horror. Throughout the stateroom battle, the boat had been rocking violently. What had begin as inane rolls of sea-thunder and grown to crashes of violent intent around the ship. They'd known all of that while they were below for none of them had difficulty hearing. And still, though the boat had rolled with increasing gusto, and all knew (even Remus) in the back of their heads that something needed to be done about securing the sail in a storm such as this one or it would be torn asunder (Remus could still remember watching it happen aboard the _Ariel_ , while he was lashed to the deck, inhaling icy water)-- though all of this was true, none of them had given thought to the facts of the moment during the battle. While ensconced in a life-or-death struggle, the immediacy of the here and now had overpowered all of their senses, removing from the forefront of their brains anything akin to information about danger distant and in the future.

Only now, that danger was no longer distant and in the future. It had become the here and now.

The hefty mast that drove _The Grampus_ through the seas, around the cape, across the Pacific or Atlantic or wherever she pleased, was, quite simply, gone. With it, of course, was the sail. Where to was a question no one could answer, but they supposed it was sinking rapidly to the bottom of the ocean by now.

Turning to their present situation, they saw that the deck was awash with water. In fact, the stateroom of the captains, which sat below decks by one small ladder, had, in the moment they had made their way up to the deck, flooded near to the ceiling.

"The men," Sirius cried over the gale. "They'll drown."

Remus knew the truth of his words but could not agree with the sentiment. Sirius wanted to rescue murderous mutineers, the same men who had put them in this situation, and Remus always had been the more practical of the pair. He pretended not to hear Sirius, noticed Shacklebolt and Pettigrew do the same. Sirius opened his mouth to protest but maybe he understood what he was saying and he shut it again, his large blue eyes sharing his fear and with Remus, not untouched by admonition. Remus patted Sirius' shoulder only once, thinking that they had enough to worry about in trying to get just _themselves_ through the night. But he was reminded once more of why he loved this man.

"We're going to go down. The ship," Pettigrew yelled over the waves. Remus realized the truth of Pettigrew's words and felt his heart hammer. What he wouldn't give to not have been on this trip, for himself and Sirius to be in their little, beautiful bedroom on Nantucket.

"We're carrying oilcloth, it's not possible," Shacklebolt reminded them all. "I'm more worried about us washing over."

Remus' eyes turned to the coil of rope laying on deck. "We won't wash over," he yelled. He grabbed one end and threw it to Shacklebolt. "Tie yourselves to the ship."

Shacklebolt took up with the idea immediately. "Fast knots, boys," he added.

Sirius shuddered, sharing a hooded look with Remus, and Remus wondered what Sirius was thinking of. He didn't ask though; he lowered Sirius to the deck and tied the man himself. Sirius let Remus tie him, knowing Remus made fast knots, secure ones that didn't come undone in a storm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus John Lupin was born on the island of Nantucket, famous for its whaling culture. His companion Sirius Black is the nephew of Captain Alphard Black, with whom the couple now lives. When the sea calls to Sirius and Remus after their graduation from Academy, they have to content themselves with smaller adventures until Captain Black announces that he is taking his ship, The Grampus, around South America. Sirius smuggles Remus on board, but their plans go awry when a foul mutiny overcomes the ship. Captain Black is lost forever, but his nephew and his nephew's stowaway lover team up with the mutineer Kingsley Shacklebolt to try and take the ship back. They will find that being in control of the ship does not give them control of the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a crossover with the Edgar Allen Poe novel _The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket_. I read this book this summer and was quite shocked to find myself reading a Remus/Sirius novel. I ended this where the good half of the book ends, and emphasized or de-emphasized events that I felt were not properly emphasized in the book.

_**The Narrative of Remus John Lupin of Nantucket [Harry Potter] PART 2/2**_  
 **Title:** The Narrative of Remus John Lupin of Nantucket PART 2/2  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Warnings:** Minor and major character death, violence, thoughts of suicide, starvation, cannibalism, infidelity, major character illness, sharks, thirst, poisonous gases  
 **Genre(s):** Action, adventure, horror, period piece, crossover  
 **Word Count:** 16,496

 **Summary:** Remus John Lupin was born on the island of Nantucket, famous for its whaling culture. His companion Sirius Black is the nephew of Captain Alphard Black, with whom the couple now lives. When the sea calls to Sirius and Remus after their graduation from Academy, they have to content themselves with smaller adventures until Captain Black announces that he is taking his ship, The Grampus, around South America. Sirius smuggles Remus on board, but their plans go awry when a foul mutiny overcomes the ship. Captain Black is lost forever, but his nephew and his nephew's stowaway lover team up with the mutineer Kingsley Shacklebolt to try and take the ship back. They will find that being in control of the ship does not give them control of the sea.

 **Prompt:** For [](http://rs-games.livejournal.com/profile)[**rs_games**](http://rs-games.livejournal.com/) Team AU [red/poem](http://bit.ly/1d0ApR) and originally posted anonymously [here](http://bit.ly/3vXgX5) with comments [here](http://bit.ly/3QWM2L).

 **Thanks:** Thanks to my beta [](http://3whitewhores.livejournal.com/profile)[**3whitewhores**](http://3whitewhores.livejournal.com/)! I've edited this more since, so if you see any more errors, please point them out.

 **Author's Note:** This is a crossover with the Edgar Allen Poe novel _The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket_. I read this book this summer and was quite shocked to find myself reading a Remus/Sirius novel. I ended this where the good half of the book ends, and emphasized or de-emphasized events that I felt were not properly emphasized in the book.

  
  
The Narrative of Remus John Lupin of Nantucket PART 2

  
 _24 Hours Later_

The storm had left a beautiful blue sky, no clouds as far as they could see, and none of them worse for the wear. They were clearly in tropical waters by the weather alone, and now that it was the four of them, none even considered binding Pettigrew again. They needed each other if they were to get through this.

 _The Grampus_ was now floating with its deck at water level. It looked frightfully as though it intended to continue with its sinking at any moment, but Shacklebolt laughed at them and reminded them that oil floats, and so does oilcloth, and even a big wooden ship when laden with oil cloth can't manage a proper sink.

Their first concern was water. They had a jug, left on deck by a drunken mutineer and half-filled with water, but only a taste would tell which kind. It did turn out to be rainwater but they knew it wouldn't last long, so they found a chain on deck and devised a method of a chain laid in a shirt to funnel rainwater into the jug for drinking water. They did, of course, now require rain in order to stay alive.

None came for two days, though, by which time they were in desperate state, despite the fact that the four of them had split half a jug of drinking water. Sirius, especially, would spend long hours asleep in the sun-- or perhaps it was more accurate to say unconscious.

Even despite his own hunger, Remus began to grow concerned for Sirius. During his hours of wakefulness he was snappish and aloof. The rain came and they all drank, and moods improved despite their growing hunger, but Sirius was an exception. His mood only grew darker. The whites of his eyes were red, and his naps and slumber combined to cover many more hours than his time spent awake. Even when he was awake he often seemed less than aware, or as if he were fighting the urge to sleep.

After a long and arduous task of it, Remus and Shacklebolt managed to hold their breaths and devise sinking mechanisms long enough to make some ventures below decks and come out with a tin of salted ham. It was all they could find but it kept them going. Even Sirius seemed more lucid for a while, but though rain came again and gave them precious water, food did not rain from the sky and hunger was having its effects on them.

Sirius, in his increasing moodiness, had decided on some caprice to not even let Remus near him any longer. Remus was not hurt, for he knew, instinctively, that there was something Sirius was keeping from him. He watched Sirius and at times when Sirius was asleep he dripped cold ocean water onto Sirius' hot, sunburned flesh. The heat that radiated off of this beautiful man seemed almost, at times, warm enough to burn those around him. Remus felt scorched all the way through, and whenever Sirius shot him a glare, he felt those scorches burn and blister.

Shacklebolt counted sunsets and sunrises with knife cuts to a deck railing. Remus was watching him one morning and pointed to a symbol, a small circle underneath one of the tally marks. "What does this mean?"

"Last we ate," Shacklebolt answered succinctly.

"And each mark is...?"

"A day."

Remus felt his jaw drop. He didn't know how long he had gone without food when he was in the hold, but the fourteen days since their last meal seemed excessive.

"And these?" he pointed to the other marks, already knowing and dreading and feeling in his bones what they were.

"Water."

It had been three days. Remus knew this already. He had been watching the clouds, he had been watching Sirius. But, watching Sirius deteriorate, watching Sirius fail to wake up for nearly an entire day had preoccupied his attention. They had discovered that bathing in the ocean kept thirst at bay. They weren't, of course, drinking ocean water, but then they were not sweating, either. They were cooled, not overly hot, able to deal with the harsh tropical sun beating down on them.

Sirius could not stay conscious long enough to swim in the ocean.

"How... long..." Remus doesn't want to ask this question, and he knows it's shorter for Sirius. He can't say what is wrong but he knows time is much shorter for Sirius. They've had _so little_ water, even, up until now, that the sheer lack of it seems unjustly cruel.

"If we don't get rain by tomorrow evening--"

"If we don't get rain by tomorrow evening," a harsh voice answered behind them, "One of us has got to go."

Both Shacklebolt and Remus turned to gape at Pettigrew, who stood firmly behind them.

"It only makes sense," Pettigrew insisted. "No need for us _all_ to die, when one can save us all."

Remus felt his face blanch with terror. He could not-- Who would suggest such a thing?

To Remus's intense dismay, he watched Shacklebolt nod sagely and answer, "We'll draw straws."

~*~*~

 _The Next Day_

He could not imagine how it had come to this. Remus' hand shook as he clenched the straws: three long, one short. One short straw stood between himself and certain death. It was hard to think of Sirius' well-being, this once. Sirius, who had nodded when Pettigrew and Shacklebolt announced the idea. Remus would rather go hungry than eat any a man. Would he rather die? Was he prepared to serve _himself_ up?

All the questions brought him back to this reality, to here. Was there some way to keep this from happening? To prevent the drawing of straws?

"What's takin' you, Lupin?" It was Shacklebolt, his voice stern though not angry. Remus imagined that Shacklebolt could read his thoughts, his hesitation.

Suddenly, Pettigrew and Shacklebolt were on either side of Remus and he found he had no choice but to agree with them regardless. His moment of delay was up. He could not suspend this doom any longer. He thought he might retch as a confident Shacklebolt drew out a straw.

Long. Shacklebolt drew a long straw. That made his own chances, and Sirius', only that much worse.

Sirius reached up a hand next, and Remus hesitated. He could not do this. Pettigrew shoved him in the back and he knew he had no choice, or else he _would_ be dinner.

Sirius did not look well. His eyes were glazed with fever, and Remus did not dare mention to Sirius the worsening condition of his arm. If they weren't rescued quickly-- Well, even if they were rescued now, there could be no doubt that Sirius would lose his arm. If they'd had the facility aboard the floating wreck, Remus might have done it himself. The rot didn't stink to Shacklebolt and Pettigrew yet, but neither were as attentive to the departed captain's nephew as was Remus. The thought of losing Sirius to hungry mutineers, to sharks, exposure, or gangrene-- any of it, made him feel ill. How he wished he could go back in time and undo this entire adventure. How foolish they had been. Captain Black had already suffered at the hands of his mutinous crew, and though _The Grampus_ could not sink due to a berth loaded with casks of oilcloth, it had had all of its sails destroyed in a storm and the berth was now entirely full up with water. _The Grampus_ existed in a sort of living death. Looking into the feverish and dazed eyes of its gangrenous heir, Remus felt Sirius, too, was only an oil cast from death himself.

Sirius managed to lift himself up well enough to pluck a straw from Remus' hands. Remus shut his eyes tightly.

"Long," Shacklebolt said. "There ya go, Sirius. Long!"

Sirius laughed happily, and when Remus opened his eyes and looked again, he was alarmed by the lack of concern over his own fate in Sirius' glazed, jubilant expression. Maybe near-death did that to a man.

"You two next," Kingsley Shacklebolt reminded Remus, and Remus nodded, closed his eyes, and felt Pettigrew pull another straw from his hand. He could not bring himself to open his eyes this time. There was utter silence, no comments, no outcries. Sirius was not defending him or rejoicing in his fate. Remus felt his knees go weak.

This was how they were going to end. They were twenty now. They'd had a friendship since they were twelve and it had only grown into something so much more, and this was where it would end. Sirius would smile, giddy for a meal and some liquid on his sun-parched throat, while Remus merely let himself be killed. No love, no friendship, no familial affection. Just murder and cannibalism. Remus shook so hard he fell to his knees.

"You can open your eyes, Lupin," Kingsley said. "It's not you."

Remus, overflowing with relief, reached out to grasp-- grasped Sirius. Sirius' right arm. It was cold to the touch. Not cold like skin, but cold like death, and suddenly Remus knew he was yet to endure a fate worse than being eaten. He knew that Sirius had never been in any danger. Sirius could _not_ be eaten. Sirius was rotting from the inside out.

Remus's eyes reached up to meet Sirius' sky-gray, Sirius's eyes that had been filled with mania for days and he saw there that, below the mania, Sirius already knew what was happening. Sirius was already prepared.

"No," Remus whispered.

Behind him, Pettigrew cried out and was silenced by a gurgle as Shacklebolt slit his throat.

~*~*~

 _That Night_

The meal had served Sirius surprisingly well. He wasn't just lucid, he was almost animated. If Remus had known killing that mutineering, murdering rat Pettigrew would lead to such a return of his own dear Sirius, he would have sliced the man with his own hands. As it was, he sat by Sirius late into the night, watching the stars come out overhead. The clear skies had betrayed Pettigrew to the gallows and now they felt almost like friends. Here in the tropics, the star for which Sirius had been named was much closer to overhead, and they watched it, watched the world enveloped in complete darkness: the new moon.

Remus knows that Sirius' recovery is an illusion. He knows they will never see another full moon together. He cannot think how he ought to react, so he lays on the driest part of the deck and laughs feebly at jokes Sirius makes, jokes Remus isn't even listening to.

"I love you," Sirius said breathlessly. "I always will, even when-- even after, Remus. If there's an after, a place--"

"What are you talking about?" Remus kicked him playfully in a shin, knowing even though neither of them have said it that hands and arms are off-limits.

"What will you do, after?" Sirius won't even allow Remus his last moments of denial.

"How can I have an after?" Remus asked, feeling hollow.

"Does it matter if I say I want you to?"

Remus couldn't answer. It didn't matter, and at the same time it did. He didn't want to talk about After. The entire world compressed to now and he thought that if he had been born a warlock he might have actually frozen time.

"Remus," Sirius started, taking a deep breath as if stealing himself, "You know last year when things were--"

"I don't care," Remus answered. He _had_ cared and without even realizing it before now, he knew what Sirius was about to say. He had seen Elizabeth Schuester at the shipyards each day, bringing lunch to Sirius, sometimes in the evenings walking him home.

"You ought to."

"Were you courting her?"

"I--" Remus knows Sirius well enough to hear him try to make up a lie and fail. "Yes."

"Why _would_ you?"

"I wanted-- don't you ever want to be like _everyone else_?"

"I'm not. I never have been, really, and I thought you-- I thought I'd got--"

"Shh, Remus." Sirius rolled over with clear difficulty and pain and placed the forefinger of his left hand on Remus's lips. "You're here, not her. It was a mistake. A God's honest mistake."

Remus spoke despite Sirius' finger, moving his lips against the chilly skin. "Did you sleep with her?" he asked.

"Yes." Sirius met his eyes, though they could hardly see by anything more than starlight.

"Christ," Remus-- carefully-- disentangled himself from Sirius and sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. "Christ Jesus." He dropped his head, feeling he might throw up. "How many others have there been, Sirius? Were there others at Academy?"

"No. None. Never."

Remus turned, expecting to see Sirius pinning him with that intensely bereft look that pleaded for forgiveness. Instead, Sirius was staring off into the ocean, defeated. He turned back, perhaps sensing Remus' eyes on him.

"I had hoped you would sing for me."

"What, now? I played around on you, sing to me? Yes of course I will."

A sadness came into Sirius' eyes, an emotion so deep it was almost tinged with wisdom. "I meant," he said, "when you bury me. I was hoping you would sing. You have a lovely voice, and you never sing."

Remus felt his mouth drop open.

"Tell me you will," Sirius said. "I won't know the difference; no one will be there to hold you to it. Just tell me."

Remus folded his elbows once more onto his knees, curled against Sirius' better side-- his left side-- and cried until he had not another drop left for tears. Then he slept, and Sirius slept.

Sirius did not awaken.

~*~*~

 _The Next Day_

They sat by the body until late afternoon, neither one able to move. Even though Sirius had disintegrated into mania and unconsciousness in his later days, still the ship seemed empty, dim, unlit without him on it. To Remus, the entire world seemed as if the sun had been stolen away. He didn't move a muscle because that would continue the illusion of time moving onward without his consent. He didn't want to move because, while every movement in this life to this point had brought him towards Sirius, every movement from this one forward took him away from Sirius. In the distant future, he imagined people would ask him why he'd never married. No one would remember Sirius Black. The gray-wash would be sold to wealthy state-siders, or perhaps revert to Black family property. Elizabeth Schuester would marry and have a brood of fat, sandy-haired children with some German gent. The old piano in the drawing room of Ash, the one that never held a tune, would be firewood. Remus, like the gray-wash on Ash or the out-of-tune-piano, would be forgotten and was sure he had already lived the best parts of his life.

But when the sky turned pink and then orange, and the sun threatened to set, Shacklebolt got up and fetched some cloth with which to wrap the body. He'd afforded Pettigrew no such dignity. Remus merely watched.

"Did you want to say words?" Shacklebolt asked. "I'm not one for prayers, but maybe you--?"

Remus shrugged and shook his head. "Get this over with," he groaned.

Shacklebolt nodded and pulled the wrapped body towards the railing.

"Wait," Remus stood, "If-- If you-- Yeah, I would like to-- Just, sing a song."

"He's your kin, do as you like."

Remus was surprised to hear Shacklebolt put it as such. Did he think Remus and Sirius were-- had been-- related? Or was that the best way he knew to put what passed between two men as love?

Remus crouched. He knew that wasn't how people sang at funerals; he'd been to plenty. But he wasn't singing at a funeral. He was fulfilling a man's last wish. He was singing to Sirius, not Kingsley Shacklebolt. If there was an After-- and he now believed there must be, or else how could Remus still be alive?-- then Sirius was the one meant to hear this.

The bundle there at his feet was all the familiar proportions and shapes-- it was perfect, _Sirius_ was perfection even in death. Remus watched the sunset and the man he loved, wondering if it would rain, or whether he would be next to follow Sirius, and then he sang,

 _Oh, wrap me in my country's flag  
And lay me in the cold, blue sea  
Let the roaring of the waves  
My solemn requiem be  
And I shall sleep a pleasant sleep  
While storms above their vigils keep_

 _My Captain brave shall read for me  
The service of the silent air  
And yay, shall lower me in the waves  
When all the prayers are said  
And I will find my long, long home  
Among the billows and the foam  
Farewell my friends, for many I leave  
We've sailed together on the deep  
Come, let us shake our hands  
I'll sail no more but ship mains work for me_

 _I'm bound above, my course is run  
I near the port, my voyage is done_

He lifted the body with the tenderness of a lover, and set Sirius into the sea, not a drop at all but a push, as their own bit of flotsam floated only just above its coursing surface.

~*~*~

Remus and Shacklebolt subsisted on rainwater and silence. Remus masticated his own sorrow, not sure if it was meant to keep him alive or poison him. In his troubled and feverish sleep, when it came, he imagined jumping into the billows of fins that now followed _The Grampus_. The sharks had received one meal: Sirius. Dear, amazing Sirius. Now they followed as if they suspected that Remus would throw himself to them, wanting to join with his other half one final time, even if it must be in the belly of a shark. He tried to see them as abominable creatures but when he saw them following, he saw instead that they drew the ghost of Sirius after _The Grampus_ , as if everything that meant to rip the two of them apart secretly also brought them together. Even death.

But Remus' wonderings were only so romantic on the edges of dreams, where diving into the waiting sharks was like leaning into the arms of a lover. During the sunlight hours, Remus was alone and starving to death on the open Atlantic.

Five days of this passed, according to Shacklebolt's meticulous wooden-notch calendar. Five days, Remus flirted with death.

On the sixth day, death was no longer a viable option, because that was the day that _The Phoenix_ , a schooner out of Charleston, North Carolina and headed home with a belly full of south Atlantic seals, ran nearly across their bow at daybreak.

~*~*~

 _Six Weeks Later_

 _The Nantucket Sun-Times, August 29_

 _This week, a regular passenger liner from Charleston, North Carolina came ashore with two rather less-than-regular passengers bearing bad tidings of a local ship. The well-respected Alphard Black of Nantucket, Captain of _The Grampus_ , went to sea this May with a crew of seventeen men, including his nephew Sirius Black. The ship was on a routine sealing and whaling mission to the Pacific. A mutiny occurred before the ship reached Barbados, however, and the Captain and three of his men were set adrift, presumed dead. Sirius Black was taken prisoner, and later died of a gangrenous infection. The ship suffered in a tropical storm, and the only surviving members of the crew are Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin, both of Nantucket. They were rescued by _The Phoenix_ , captained by Sir Albus Dumbledore, a British native now relocated to Charleston._

Remus' eyes were still wet as he finished the tiny blurb for the fifth time. He was sitting in the parlor of the gray-wash, largely because his belongings were here and he hadn't anywhere else to go. Certainly he could go home, but then he would be forced to endure either the condemnation or sympathy of his parents, and he wanted neither at the present moment. He had not even told his family that he was back, but they would know now, he reflected, starting into the article once more. He had just reached the very first "Sirius Black" and felt hung there on those words when a knock sounded on the door. Remus was tempted to ignore it, already with a great feeling that he knew who it was, but he was caught and he knew he could not hide forever.

When Remus answered the door, he was not surprised to see his mother.

"Remus." There was a mixture of relief, urgency, anger, and pity in her mouse-brown eyes, "You have to come home. This house doesn't belong to you."

It wasn't, admittedly, the very first argument he had expected out of her mouth, but she did have a point. The Blacks were a powerful and rich family, and would doubtless reclaim this house for their estate. Woe betide any young man foolish enough to be caught living in it without permission when the appraiser came.

As if summoned by force of thought alone, a man in a suit began to walk up the path to the door behind his mother and towards the house. He had the look of a barrister or other such official position, and he smiled and nodded with acute politeness when he reached the duo waiting awkwardly at the door.

"Ah," said the man, "I am looking for the owner of the house?"

"I'm afraid he's deceased, sir," Mrs. Lupin answered politely, while Remus tried to stare the man down, hoping to be imposing enough to cause this little official to back away.

"Oh yes, right, I know that," answered the man in the gray suit. "Sorry, I haven't introduced myself. My name's Fudge, Cornelius Fudge, and I'm the executor of Mr. Black's will. What I mean is, can I see whomever is currently occupying this house? Is it you, sir?" He turned to Remus.

Mrs. Lupin glared now at her son. This was, Remus thought, the moment at which they would kick him out of the house he had thought of as home for many years now. His heart fell.

"Sorry," he answered Fudge quietly. "I'll get my things and be gone. Do you have a deadline?"

"Well, not at the moment," Fudge frowned. "That rather depends on whether I can locate this shipwreck survivor, this Remus Lupin."

Remus frowned, sure that this man could want nothing from him, as he had nothing. He didn't see how he could be held in any way responsible for the deaths of the Captain or Sirius. On the contrary, he would have done _anything_ to prevent them.

"Would you happen to know where he could be found?"

Remus was on the verge of stammering that no, he did not know. He was grateful that thus far his mother had also remained silent about his identity. This plan, though probably misguided, was interrupted, perhaps by providence, as a young blond woman with a rotund belly waddled slowly up the path to the house. Remus's mother and Mr. Fudge spun to watch, and Remus felt his stomach churn as he recognized her: Elizabeth Schuester. He thought he might actually throw up, and he made a note to aim for Fudge should he do so.

"Mrs. Lupin, Mr.-- er..., and Remus. Good day," She greeted the three of them standing on the porch. "Remus, I was wondering..." she looked awkwardly at the people standing beside her, and then she forged ahead. "I was wondering if I could have a bit of conversation with you in private. I'd offer to go home and come back later when you haven't company, but I live clear on the other side of town, and..." She gestured to her extremely pregnant belly. "It wasn't an easy walk. I truly am sorry to interrupt. But this is a matter of some importance. And might be a bit... indelicate." Her cheeks turned the color of radishes, complete with white centers. If Remus had been fond of the gentler sex, he could see what might be appealing about this particular specimen: she was frank and pretty.

Remus wasn't sure whether to be happy about the interruption, or to panic over its cause. Either way, he didn't need to be asked twice. In a moment, Elizabeth Schuester was sitting on the captain's favorite settee, a glass of water in her hands.

"Remus," she started, her hands moving awkwardly. "I can't guess how much Sirius told you before-- before he--"

"Everything," Remus interrupted, unable to know whether he was really saying the truth, but somehow feeling in his soul that it wasn't a lie.

She nodded. "I guessed he would tell you. You and he-- Well, what he and I had wasn't-- I wasn't _you_."

Remus didn't reply; he already knew this as well.

"The baby is his," Elizabeth said, fast and to-the-point.

Remus again said nothing; it was something else he had known.

"I've been accepted at a female seminary for the-- for those of... less virtue." She choked up. "I want to go, Remus. I do. I want to get away from here, where people stare."

He felt his eyes water. He'd known what it was like when people stared. At Academy, he and Sirius had generated rumors among that teenage society that was less understanding or generous than the people of this island where his own and Sirius' families had land and standing in the community. That was why he had enjoyed this house so much. Within this house, loving Sirius was normal and no one paid it any mind.

"I was going to leave it with my parents, let them decide what to do. Or really, who to give it away to. But I don't want that. I want you to have it."

"Have what, now?" Remus asked. His voice sounded watery.

"The baby. Will you-- Will you _at least_ consider it? Sirius wouldn't have wanted it just given away. He'd have wanted--"

"Yes, absolutely."

"Thank you. Do let me know when you've made up your--"

"No, I mean, 'yes, absolutely.'"

She was standing now, preparing to go, and looking flustered and awkward. "I'm afraid I don't--"

"Elizabeth," he turned his eyes to meet hers. "Thank you. Yes. I don't know the first thing about babies," he swallowed hard and made a sound not entirely dissimilar to a laugh, "but I would be honored to call-- your child-- after my own name and keep it in my house and raise it as my son or daughter."

The radishes bloomed once again on her cheeks, and what she said then would stick with him for a great while. "Thank you Remus. I'm glad Sirius had someone like you. I haven't any idea what I was doing, getting between the two of you, but thank you for helping me extract myself with the best possible grace." She kissed him on the cheek. "My mother will make all the arrangements. I have no intention to be back-- ever-- but do write me."

"I will," he answered solemnly as he saw her out the door.

Mr. Fudge and Mrs. Lupin were still on the porch, though now they were in conversation, sitting in chairs and passing papers back and forth in the red afternoon light.

"Ah, Remus," his mother smiled up at him. "Whatever was that about? Oh never mind, you can explain it later. For now, could you please sign this. Oh and this. And Cornelius, hand us that one-- yes, that." She passed him three papers and made room on their small table for him to sign.

"What are these?" he asked, nervous. A baby! And homeless. What had he been thinking? But he knew he would do it again, for the baby was Sirius', and that made it as good as his own.

"House papers," answered Mr. Fudge.

"Captain Black left you the house," explained Mrs. Lupin.

"What?" Remus stood staring at them, waiting to see if they were having a joke on him. "He wouldn't. He'd leave it to Sirius."

"Ahem," answered Fudge, holding up a finger and rooting through the papers on his lap, "In the event of my untimely demise, I wish to leave my estate, both money and property, to my nephew Sirius Black, and his friend Mister Remus Lupin, to split evenly if they cannot work out a schema, or to be split however they see fit amongst themselves. In the case that either of the two persons heretofore named shall not be alive to see my death, I leave all my assets to the remaining, either Sirius Black or Remus Lupin, for purposes of their own deciding." Fudge smiled blandly. "Sign on the line, and it's all yours. All three papers please. Oh, and this fourth," he added, brandishing another. "Your mother here has already been through the fine print while you were inside with that young lady. Shall I guess there's a wedding in order?" Fudge's eyebrows waggled unevenly.

"Certainly not," both Remus and his mother answered at once, before sharing a conspiratorial smile. "I daresay," Remus added as he signed each paper in turn, "that we may, however, have to plan a Christening."

His mother stared at him. "You didn't. Or else there _will_ be a wedding, Remus John Lupin."

He stood more completely erect, frowning. "No, mother, I didn't. But love is as much a responsibility as it as a blessing. We take on our loved ones' commitments if they are not present to fulfill them themselves." Remus noticed his own throat was tight as he stared down the road whence Elizabeth had come. He wondered whether he could make do with no wife, no experience, nothing by a house. He hadn't even a job, other than his part-time employment at the grocery.

"There," Mr. Fudge collected all of his papered into his case and smiled affably, "You should receive your allowance checks by mail, and I would expect six weeks for the first."

Remus turned to gape at the lawyer. "Could you repeat that, please?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, is there a problem? I just said that your allowance will be sent--"

"How much?" Remus interrupted.

"Two hundred a month. You just signed off on it."

"Two hundred!"

"If it's not enough you'll have to negotiate with Captain Black's financier. I am only accorded the power necessary--"

"Not enough?" Remus grinned, feeling as if something had gone his way for the first time in a long while. "Christ Jesus in heaven provides, Mister Fudge." Remus grinned.

Fudge shrugged, waved goodbye, and disappeared back down the path. Remus, at this point, was left with his mother on the porch.

"Remus," his mother began quietly, "Did Sirius-- with that Schuester girl--"

"Mother," Remus said rather sternly, "I believe that's our business, not yours."

"If I'm going to be raising her child, it's my business."

He gave her a cold smile. "You shan't be raising Elizabeth's child. _I_ shall be raising _Sirius's_ child. God help us all." He spun on a heel and retreated into the gray-wash on Ash Street. He thought he might play the piano, make a sandwich, and pick out a room for a nursery. For a moment, Remus considered moving his own room. The Captain's had always been much larger, and the house had quite a few. Two hundred a month could hire a live-in child nurse, if it came to it. He ought to move Sirius' belongings out and find himself a new room.

Remus' footsteps brought him back to his own room, though. He gazed out eastward. From here he could see the wharves. He could see the wooden pylons where _The Grampus_ was often docked, and he could see the smaller harbor where he had kept the _Ariel_. He could wait for sunrise from this room. In this coming summer dusk, Great Point Beach was a smudge on the waves, and the sea stretched as far as the horizon. Remus sat on the bed he had shared with Sirius since they had lived on Ash street. From there, he watched the sea. He knew he shouldn't feel drawn to the water even now, but in addition to a house and some money-- and a child-- Remus might have inherited something else from the Blacks. The sea called to him. Sirius was out there somewhere, and when Remus saw the grayness of the waves under the sunset sky, it was Sirius' eyes he saw. At that moment, Remus knew he would be making his own career on the water. And he would keep this bedroom, where it had all begun, and where he could always view the sea. But he would also find a way to get back out there.

An odd sense of beginning struck him. From one point of view, his life was over. But, examined with the right perspective, as thick old glass might distort the world when viewed properly, some next great stage of his life was just beginning. And, in some elusive way, he was not continuing life without Sirius at all. Rather, Sirius's life and his own had merged in some indefinable way. He would always miss the man, but his spirit was everywhere. It spilled over the island with every gust of fresh sea air.

Remus rose to open the window.


End file.
